Desert Rose
by Karisma1
Summary: Serena believed what she had seen was only rotten luck. But years later, after she meets Darien, she realizes that there's more than meets the eye. Soon, in a race against the clock & their desire, they need to stop a killer that wants the two dead
1. Default Chapter

Desert Rose  
By Karisma  
Prologue  
Rated: R (For adult subject content, language, and allusions to sexual   
matters)  
Genre: General Fiction; Romance, Alt  
Karisma456@hotmail.com  
Standard Disclaimers Apply  
June 2001  
AN: Here it is the product of the note hopefully most of you read earlier.   
Romance will be present, but will also take a back burner. the rating is R   
so read accordingly or do not read at all. i will not tolerate flames for   
such content when you have all been fairly warned. Thanks for reading and   
email me(i need feeback)!!!  
PS i will definetly finish my two other fics--don't worry.  
December 1999  
She was going back to Southfield.  
Serena Jenkins sank back into the less than comfortable seating of the   
commercial plane. She was oblivious to the discomfort as she stared out the   
small window next to her, her index finger idly rubbing against on her chin.   
Her mind soared through the clouds and past the spectacular aerial view of   
New Mexico. What she was thinking of was far more paramount than the   
geometrical shapes of dusky colored land peeking through the wisps of cotton   
candy like clouds.  
She allowed her mind to go back to the sleepy town in Maine where her   
life was forever changed twelve years ago. She sat motionless while the   
airhostess politely asked her which beverage she would prefer; she was   
impervious to the curious look she received when she remained silent to the   
inquiry. Because she was not here on the plane to Maine, she was far away in   
a cramped space where her life took the one turn that was irrevocable.  
Serena jarred herself out of the trance when warm fingers brushed her   
hand to capture her attention. She smiled politely at the passenger next to   
her, answering his question which curt formality. She adjusted her attention   
to the small television screen some yards away from her. Julia Roberts was   
reiterating her non-negotiable terms for one night of passion with her to   
Richard Gere.  
Soon enough she drifted from the steamy sex scene to far more pressing   
matters.  
She was going back to Southfield.  
And when she got there, all hell would break loose.  
  



	2. Desert Rose Prologe

Desert Rose

Desert Rose

By Karisma

Prologue

Rated: R (For adult subject content, language, and allusions to sexual matters)

Genre: General Fiction; Romance, Alt

[Karisma456@hotmail.com][1]

Standard Disclaimers Apply

June 2001

AN: I revised the prologue to suit the times i had changed. thank you!

December 2001

She was going back to Southfield.

Serena Jenkins sank back into the less than comfortable seating of the 

commercial plane. She was oblivious to the discomfort as she stared out the small window next to her, her index finger idly rubbing against on her chin. Her mind soared through the clouds and past the spectacular aerial view of New Mexico. What she was thinking of was far more paramount than the geometrical shapes of dusky colored land peeking through the wisps of cotton candy-like clouds.

She allowed her mind to go back to the sleepy town in Maine where her life was forever changed twelve years ago. She sat motionless while the flight attendant politely asked her which beverage she would prefer; she was impervious to the curious look she received when she remained silent to the inquiry. Because she was not here on the plane to Maine, she was far away in that cramped, dark space where her life took the one turn that was irrevocable.

Serena jarred herself out of the trance when warm fingers brushed her hand to capture her attention. She smiled politely at the passenger next to her, answering his question which curt formality. She adjusted her attention to the small television screen some yards away from her. Julia Roberts was reiterating her non-negotiable terms for one night of passion with her to Richard Gere.

Soon enough she drifted from the steamy sex scene to far more pressing matters.

She was going back to Southfield.

And when she got there, all hell would break loose.

Desert Rose

By Karisma

Section One

Rated: R (For adult subject content, language, and allusions to sexual matters)

Genre: General Fiction; Romance, Alt

[Karisma456@hotmail.com][1]

Standard Disclaimers Apply

October 2001

Chapter One

Southfield, Maine 1989

The thing bugged people later was that no one screamed; not one sound 

was heard from the small, dingy apartment on Caper Street.

When the shadow slipped through the door, none of the room's occupants noticed. When the shadow took on a human form, not even a glance was offered from the smiling women inside.

A child saw her mother laughing as their game of hide and seek continued. She could not resist peeking through the small crack of the closet door and jamb. Only a diminutive lamplight was available, and the child took a few seconds to adjust her vision.

She saw the silhouette of her giggling mother as she crept closer to her hiding spot. But the smile was eradicated and replaced with a contorted look of pain as the women's back arched. She fell onto the threadbare carpet with a muffled thump and made no move to get up. The child saw the shadow of a sharp knife rise and then come down with vague indifference.

Again.

Again.

Again.

The amount of blows ran together through the child's hazy vision. She 

caught sight of the shadow's face. It was pallid white with calm green eyes. Under normal conditions, it would have been considered a beautiful face with its sharp features and aristocratic nose and cheekbones. It was not the face of a killer; it did not have any distinguishable scars, nor did it offer any show of anger or passion that was close to hatred. In fact, there was no emotion, period. The man seemed detached from the heinous crime he had committed, he was deaf to the silent cries the woman was pleading, impervious to the life he was draining from the beautiful, young woman beneath him.

The child's big blue eyes widened as she opened her mouth to scream.

And nothing came out.

She stood there, her mouth frozen in one long, still cry for help or 

mercy. Neither of which the man heard. The blond man turned away from the motionless woman and shook out a handkerchief from the pocket of his impeccable slacks. With careful deliberation, he cleaned the steel of the blade, slowly rubbing the soiled blood out of his prized treasure.

When he was done, he tossed the handkerchief next to the woman's form and pocketed the expensive knife. He offered one last look at the woman, disgusted with the trouble and time she had caused him.

"Some desert rose," he sneered in frank mockery.

And then he turned on his hand-made Italian shoes and left.

Chapter Two

"Are you sure this is what the man looked like?" The detective asked the child for umpteenth time.

She simply stared at him with the same blue intensity she had the past week. Peter Reeds shifted his gaze back at the picture the artist had produced according to the reticent child's witnessing. He had already memorized the cultured man's features, but anything was better than glancing up into those knowing eyes again. He didn't like this kid, she was a spooky bastard. Serena Jenkins was entirely too smart, her eyes much too perceptive for their short nine years. She made him feel more uncomfortable than all the drug smugglers and rapists he had been in company with.

Peter Reeds was forty and, in his opinion, the only man qualified to deal with a murder in this whole damn state. Southfield's travesty of a police department was filled with sissies who wouldn't know how to shoot a semi-automatic if the trigger landed in their hands. For God's sake, the head of the department was a woman! Soon enough, Augusta's PD had stepped in and Reeds had been assigned to the case.

Personally, he didn't see what the big fuss was. A whore had been murdered, so what? That made his life a whole lot easier. Sure the broad was a good-looking one, and probably a good lay, but she was still a whore. And a dead one at that. She had probably fucked the wrong man, teased him about his performance or called him impotent, and then wham! got what she had deserved from day one.

But PR had realized that the hooker had a daughter and that made it a public outcry for a woman to be stabbed in cold blood in front of her darling daughter. So now justice was to be done for a woman who screwed for a living. When he had first started off, justice was done for those who deserved it, for law-abiding citizens. Not for cunts who happened to piss off the wrong men.

Now His wimp of a boss was breathing down his neck for an arrest and this damn mute of a kid wouldn't talk even if he could shake it out of her without being charged with police brutality. Sighing with disgust, he threw down the pad of paper with the invaluable picture on it. He shoved back his chair and sauntered over to grab a cup of less than delectable coffee. Actually, the stuff tasted like shit. But it made him feel like a hard ass cop, a detective who knew what he was doing and didn't take crap from anyone.

Draining the cup and then crushing it in one meaty hand, he hitched up his one of two pairs of slacks and sat down. Breathing in deeply, he stared at the mutilated Styrofoam on the table and shook his head.

What the hell was he waiting for? He knew his orders. Cursing loudly for more show than out of anger, he snatched up the drawing and went into the small copy room. Within seconds, he had done his part of his work. Then, as he reached for the phone to call another sketch artist, his job was complete.

Chapter Three

"Damn it all to hell!" Nikolai slammed the phone down with enough intensity to send it bouncing up again.

Even in his state of agitation, he looked impeccable. Not one strand of angelically blonde hair was out of place, not one wayward thread was found on his pinstripe suit. He prided himself on being immaculate; it was his way of thumbing his nose on the times where bathing was a luxury and being groomed was something too far gone to even dream about. But he had worked hard to achieve those dreams.

Nine long years he worked his ass off to procure what he now had. Those years were still nothing to the work that lay ahead of him. At twenty four he had the wealth and notoriety that most men only dreamed of. But he had not come this far to have it obliterated by a dumbass who couldn't follow precise, easy as pie orders if his life depended on it.

Which it very well did.

A kid. Christ! Where had she come from?

He stared down at the smooth newspaper ironed out in front of him. A 

nine year old who had seen her mommy slaughtered like a pig. Tsk tsk. He had regained his calm now, tempers were things that intimated weakness. And weaknesses were something that could simply not be tolerated.

It was a relief to know that the orphaned witness had been rendered mute. She could not speak. Therefore, she could not spill the beans on what, or whom, she had seen. Well, there was that pesky matter of a sketch artist, but as he understood it, that was already taken care of.

However, if there was on thing Nikolai hated, it was loose ends. Loose ends always came back to wrap around your neck and strangle you. Giving a curt nod, as if affirm his actions to himself, he pressed a single button and waited.

A tall, fair-haired man came in, his black attire a sharp contrast to the soft ambiance of the private room.

"Simon, I'm sure you heard of this." He waved the newspaper in the air as if it was a pesky bug that needed to be terminated immediately. In a way, it was.

"Yes, Nikolai."

"Right now, she's apparently mute; she can't speak."

"Yes, Nikolai."

"She's silent."

There was a pause.

"Simon?"

"Yes, Nikolai?"

"Keep her that way."

Chapter Four

The spook was a ward of the state.

Reeds was so happy he could have chugged three bottles of beer. His 

restraint wasn't due to his being on duty, however, it was the fact that the brew would go straight to his already ample gut.

But it was no matter, either way he celebrated, Serena Jenkins was now officially out of his rapidly thinning hair. He watched as the representative from social services entered the room and scanned its less than enthralling contents. Reeds was all too willing to point out the tiny waif to the petite woman.

He waited with bated breath as the mousy woman flipped through the forms attached to her clipboard and peered at him over her glasses.

"Everything seems to be in order, Detective. Do you mind if we leave now, or do you have some business to conclude?"

"No, no," Reeds said hastily, praying he did not sound half as anxious as he felt. "You can take Serena now." He smiled widely and lifting his hand to pat her head. She angled away from him quickly, silently going to the small frame of the stiff woman.

Reeds mentally cursed the little brat, but kept his grin in check. What the hell did he care if the bastard didn't take a shine to him? He was not particularly fond of her either.

He stared as both the child and woman left the building. Watching the older female walk away, he mentally assessed her as was his custom for every other piece of ass he came across. He tried to determine whether her austere demeanor was a guise to hide a wildcat in bed. The failed attempts of his imagination left him laughing until he coughed up phlegm.

~~~~~

Serena Jenkins watched with fascination as the compact car ate the miles with a neat precision. Today was the day. Excitement was something that had been rare to her for the past year, but now, as unspoken hope surged through her, the old feeling was erupting again.

She had voiced her request to Molly through a pad and pencil; she still had not uttered one word since the night she had tried to scream and could not. Molly had smiled at her serenely and ruffled Serena's blond hair with affection. The appeal had been granted and today she would see if justice had been served.

Molly's warm hand found Serena's limp one and squeezed gently. Serena turned her head away from the passenger window and faced the woman's kind face. She had formed a sort of attachment to Molly from the day she had picked her up in that hateful station. Molly had taken her away from there. She was her savior.

Most thought Molly Perkins was a skinny spinster with a dry face and even drier personality. Few knew how deeply she felt for her life's work. Her need to help children came from her own childhood experiences. Or lack thereof. She was sent to a horror story of an orphanage after her parents died in a car crash. After she graduated high school, she searched for such a place where she could give love to the children that had been absent in her own life. She found Augusta City Orphanage and stayed there, dismissing all thoughts of marriage.

Her job was her spouse; its residents her children. And when she saw a child like Serena Jenkins, she fought to keep the tears from spilling over her gaunt cheeks. This little girl was special, and not just because of the cruelty she had witnessed. No, there was something much more deeper to Serena. Molly did not know what it was, nor was she certain she would ever find out, but one could tell by looking into those placid, discerning eyes that Serena was not an average ten year-old girl.

That was the sole reason she had agreed to this fruitless excursion. There would be nothing to gain by seeking out that toad, Peter Reeds. He would have nothing new to share, he probably even forgot who Serena and Kathleen Jenkins were. To him, lives were a file, locked away after they had lost their novelty. It would break any child's heart to learn of his parent's demise being forgotten as if it were insignificant. But perhaps Serena needed this jolt to move on and maybe even speak. It would hurt initially, but then the healing process would start.

Sighing, Molly took the turns that lead them to APD headquarters.

Chapter Five

"She wants to know about her mother."

Reeds licked his lips nervously and bought himself a few seconds of 

time. "She's dead."

"How utterly clairvoyant of you, Detective."

He narrowed his eyes, he wasn't sure what that word meant, but he'd 

look it up later and determine if her words held as much disdain as her face did. It sure wasn't a pretty, warm face by any means, but it was down right frigid when she looked at him like that. He would have guessed she was around his age, maybe a bit older, though her bun was so tight, it probably pulled back a whole lot more wrinkles than were apparent.

Reeds' eyes skimmed down her stick figure encased in a brown suit. He wondered if she was still a virgin. Probably. Her legs were no doubt clamped together at the knee.

"Detective, that child is going to come in here with more hope and faith than the Vatican Council. I know it will be hard, but do try to keep your disgusting habits hidden for the next ten minutes.

"This little girl wants so much to hear that something new has risen and that you have made some marvelous kind of breakthrough. You and I know that is not true, nor will it ever be. You never liked this case from the start, it was a pimple on your ass that you couldn't wait to pop. But that pimple was her mother."

She paused, her brown eyes glittering with warning. "And if you upset 

her or make any derogatory comments about her mother's brief choice of an 

occupation—"

Reeds snorted. "Like tell the brat her mama was hired cunt?"

Molly straightened her back even more severely. "Precisely. Any remarks 

like that one and I'll—"

"You'll what?" He sneered. He stood up, thoroughly sick of the way this bitch was putting on airs. "Listen, scarecrow, you're talking to a man of the law."

"Man? We're using the term rather loosely, aren't we?" Molly smiled icily, her five foot frame militantly rigid.

Reeds face grew red with anger and Molly thought blood vessels would begin popping. It was fairly obvious she had hit a nerve. He pointed to the rectangular window that would have overlooked the office had not the blinds been down. "None of them will ever be half the man I am."

"I beg to differ, sir." She aimed her glacial stare at his protruding gut and smiled pointedly. "They are half the man you are." She turned to open the door for the half-pint. The adults watched as the ten year old girl walked in with as much regality as the Pope and sat in the wooden chair in front of Reeds. Her eyes stared at him expectantly.

Those damn eyes. Reeds gritted his teeth and caught Molly's hostile glare.

A shrill beeping broke the silence. Molly bent her head to detach her pager from the hem of her brown skirt.

"Excuse me," she said and, after one more glower at Reeds, she left.

Reeds sighed heavily and got right to the point, knowing he wouldn't 

have much time to finish this once and for all. He looked at the scrawny kid once more. In faded jeans and a flowered top, she looked like an innocent. Everything about her was naïve, except for those eyes. They were far more intelligent than most men twice her age.

Even three times. Like Reeds.

And that pissed him off.

He smiled widely, nearly cracking his chapped lips. "All right, sport. 

Here's the deal. When your mommy was killed, we tried very hard to the find the bad person that did that to her. But we couldn't. And as more time passed, it became less and less important for us to find who did it.

"Eventually, because of the law, we had to stop. After a certain time, we can't focus on old cases any more. We have to catch the new bad guys that killed more important people. In this world, there are people that matter. Whose deaths really matter. Those deaths have other people missing them. 

Your mother wasn't too high on that list."

Satisfied with himself for being a perfect blend of sympathy and firmness, Reeds leaned back on his chair and watched the brat's reaction. There were no tears, which he was slightly disappointed in. It would have been cool to see those freaky eyes spill over with tears that he himself had caused.

He would have enjoyed that power.

Molly reentered and Serena hopped off the chair and slowly opened the 

door. Molly saw the proud tilt of her head, but did not miss the trembling of her chin. She sent Reeds a curt nod and closed the door behind her.

On the way back to the orphanage, Molly got the surprise of her life that nearly sent the car off the road and into a ditch. Because in that car, Serena Jenkins opened her mouth and said quietly, "What's for lunch?"

Even with the simplicity of that statement, her eyes remained somber.

Molly did not think she had ever seen such an old, little girl.

Chapter Six

Reeds did not breath easy until he watched their car drive out of the parking lot and out of his life.

Hallelujah.

He was not a spiritual man by any means, but even he allowed whatever 

divine being was above him a thank you. He finished his rather short prayer and moved to the telephone. This was one call he was all too happy to make. By the end of it, he would be rid of a burden. No more questions, no more unexpected visits, no more pressure.

Hallelujah.

Of course, the purpose of this call was not to serve him, but a greater 

authority. ***He*** would benefit greater than anyone, and people like Reeds had jobs out of keeping ***him*** happy.In fact, he was lucky to be on this particular side of the law. Being a subordinate of ***him*** made it an everyday realization that Reeds could, and should, be behind bars instead of putting others there.

All because of one, stupid mistake.

Damn.

The recollection of that sobering thought ruined Reeds' mood. It even 

doused his confidence in working up the courage to ask out that college intern who (it was rumored) would do just about anything for her thesis paper on criminal activity. Yanking up the telephone with an angry growl, he punched the numbers as if wishing it was somebody's eyes.

"Reeds," he barked.

"He's currently unavailable. May I take a message?"

The calm voice only heightened Reed's agitation at being forced to 

leave this crucial piece of information with an inferior.

"Tell him its Augusta City Orphanage. Room 25, Bed A."

~~~~~

When Nikolai got his messages, he was quite pleased to find the three pieces of information that awaited him. He immediately sent for Simon and barely had time to blink before he appeared before him. Nikolai wordlessly handed the muscular man the sheet of paper his secretary had noted on.

"Remember what I said, Simon?"

"Yes, Nikolai."

"Let's keep her silent, shall we?"

When Simon left to fulfill his duty, Nikolai thought about giving a 

thank you present to Reeds for the information he had acquired. Of course, it would have not been impossible for him to find the location, but tedious tasks like these were exactly what he had kept Reeds for.

It was really quite ironic: Reeds working for the Special Victim's Unit.

Nikolai chuckled lightly before deciding on a present he knew Reed would love.

That college intern.

~~~~~

Molly Perkins ran from her room through the hallways a little after midnight. Her untied robe fluttered behind her, showing a negligence that was unusual for her. This was proof enough that something was terribly wrong. Her red hair was a curling mass around her face. A far cry from the sleek bun she teased it into every morning. But it did not matter right now.

Nothing did, expect getting into Room 25.

She burst through the door, mildly relieved to note that she had not 

woken up the occupants of Beds B and C. However, Bed A was wide-awake. She had trouble falling asleep in the first place, and even then, she was an incredibly light sleeper. She never cried however, which baffled even their most acuminous professionals. None of them could determine why there was a lack of nightmares invading her sleep. Molly thought there probably were, Serena just never voiced them.

Although she now answered questions with short, quiet replies, she was far from a normal ten year old. Molly suspected the one thing she would never be was normal. Serena had not told her what Reeds had said to her, but there had been no emotional outburst to convey that Reeds had acted the utter bastard that he was in front of her. On the other hand, Serena was not the type to cry about boo-boos and point to whodunit. She would most likely keep it inside, guarded from everyone and anyone.

Right now, her huge blue eyes seemed luminous in the dark room. Molly leaned over her bed and she could tell it took a while for the child to recognize the strange being as Molly Perkins. When Serena fully understood, she sat straight up in her small bed. No words were exchanged, none needed to be.

Serena scrambled out of bed and packed her minimal belongings into a tiny bag, her gray nightgown swishing silently in the dark. How the child sensed the urgency, Molly would never know. Molly looked at the drab surroundings, silently praying for a better life for each of the inhabitants. The beige walls were once white, outlines of previous pictures could still be traced when the room flooding with the light from the small window near the ceiling. Itchy blankets and cramped spaces were all the state could provide for those unfortunate enough to have lost both guardians.

Molly took Serena's tiny hand and led her out into the dark hallway, looking around cautiously for any signs of activity. Then, satisfied with the stillness, she half walked half jogged to the front doors where safety lay. When she shut the doors softly behind her, Molly was relieved to discover the car was already waiting for them, the dull purr of the engine seemed to roar in Molly's ears.

She hustled the shivering child into the backseat, giving up her own robe to bundle Serena in. She turned to the driver's window and whispered, "Orange County Orphanage. They're expecting her." She stepped back to allow the car to pull away, and chafed her hands together for warmth. She did not dare go back inside until the car was clear out of sight. And on its way to safety.

Molly would figure out a way to explain the sudden disappearance later. Not that it would matter much; it only meant one less mouth to feed and clothe for the time being. When the chill of the wind seeped straight through the flannel nightgown and Molly gasped aloud at the icy pricks all over her body. She turned and slowly walked back, her slippers soaked through by the snow.

There was no question that she had done the right thing.

She just hoped it would be enough.

Chapter Seven

Sacramento, California 1990

Darien Matthews came home only long enough to shower and grab his previously packed duffel bag. Kissing his mother's forever smooth cheek as she prepared dinner in the kitchen, he raced out the back door only to have her call him back.

"Darien Logan Matthews!" His mother's stern voice was still soft, Darien had never heard her raise her voice at anyone. Even him.

He backtracked into the room and turned to smile down at her much smaller form. She waved the spatula up at him, her sleek black hair brushing her chin as she curved her mouth into a smile. "So the big high school graduate can't spare a few words for his own mother?"

Darien groaned. "Aw, Mom, the guys—"

"Yes, yes. I know all about 'the guys'. They can wait for a few more minutes. Let me look at you."

Debra Jing-Mei Matthews crossed her arms over her chest and stepped back to eye him critically. Darien had shot up his freshman year, leaving him with a height that took after his father. At six foot two and still growing, he was an asset to his basketball team. She was proud to say that his thick head of dark hair was her contribution to his appearance; his father had brown hair. Of course, Clark Matthews had given their son the same blue-gray eyes that had her agreeing to his marriage proposal three months after they had first met.

She was proud of her son. He had graduated head of his class and gotten 

a scholarship to UCLA that went a long way since they now were a single 

income family. Oh, Clark…

Darien saw his mother's smile turn down a bit and he instantly knew where her thoughts had drifted. Folding her into his arms, he gave her a tight hug, marveling on how tiny and frail she now seemed against him. When she pulled away, she brushed her eyes quickly and narrowed her eyes up at him.

"Now, listen, Mr. BMOC. I know you're practically a college boy now, but don't forget to visit once in a while, okay?"

"Mo-om," he whined, rolling his eyes. "I'm not leaving until tomorrow!"

"Do you know what you want to major in?"

"Uh, not yet."

His face was impassive and blithe, something he had learned to do at a 

very early age. But a mother still knew. Debra realized her son's dream of becoming a lawyer from the start, what else did one figure when one's child flipped the channels for Perry Mason reruns? But Darien never voiced his ambition, just incase he failed.

"Hmmm."

"What?" Darien said, the blue dominating the gray in his eyes as it did 

when he was angry or equally passionate about something. He bit into his green apple angrily, chewing at a fast pace.

Debra sighed. "Darien, you know I know."

"I know you know what?"

"Don't lie to your mother, young man." She waved the spatula in his 

general direction. "It's a mortal sin. Although, I suppose you may be doing a lot of that since you are going to be an attorney."

He nearly chocked on his half chewed piece of apple. "How…" "Do I look stupid to you, Darien?"

Debra had put down the spatula on her immaculate Formica counter and 

slapped her hands on her still slim hips. Her warm brown eyes and narrowed into slits as she formed a standoff with her only son.

Darien knew no matter how many verbal battles he started, his mother was one opponent he could only dream of beating.

"Now why didn't you see it fit to inform the woman that carried you around for nine months and then spent the greater portion of a day pushing you out?" She went back to her stir-fry, her small back facing Darien.

He heaved a sigh. "I don't even know if I can do it, I mean—"

"Darien, you take after your father. Lord knows you have his height, 

nose, and body, might as well take his perseverance, too!"

"And stubbornness?"

She flashed him a saucy smile. " Now ***that*** you get from me." 

Concentrating on the meal in front of her, she didn't bother turning around to give him her next directions. "And sort through the mail in the living room, will you?"

Darien flicked a glance at his watch and decided he had time to throw a few junk mail catalogues out. A few long strides had him in the cozy room, filled with over stuffed furniture and a television set. It took him but a moment to pick out the two envelopes addressed to him. The ones labeled for his mother he tossed back onto the cherry oak table.

He quickly jogged to his room and set the while envelopes down, prepared to open them later. When he turned to exit his room, a small bulletin board pinned up on one side of his room caught his eye. Although he had memorized the clippings on the corkboard, he still walked toward it, entranced by the candid pictures of the small child.

It had been a year since nine year old Serena Jenkins had been forced to witness her mother's grisly murder. California, with the rest of the states, had shaken its head and tsk tsked at the tragedy, but perversely welcomed the small amount of excitement it brought to conversations at dinner parties and small gatherings. Respected newspapers had printed the story factually and compassionately. Tabloids had blazed through the sordid deal, repeatedly stressing the victim's brief vocation as a prostitute and proving that they were not above exploiting just about everyone involved.

Including a nine year old child.

Darien had saved most of the articles he could find, not sure of his 

reasons for doing so, but nonetheless tacking them up on the board day after day. The year old clippings overlapped each other, covering the titles and photos of most of the columns.

He read the first article printed again, surprised it was not yet committed to memory, given how many times he had pored over the words. Kathryn Jenkins had left her home in Ohio to head for the big city to become an actress. Poignantly typical, her ideal dream had not panned out and instead she became a prostitute at fifteen, roaming the streets of New York to earn her daily bread.

When she learned of her pregnancy a year later, she left her pimp and moved to a small town in Maine, managing to scrounge up a job as a waitress and an apartment. She raised her daughter alone for nine years until ***it*** happened.

It seemed as if Darien was the only one who still remembered ***it***, who still thought about ***it***. When the next gruesome event happened, the country was all too willing to drop the old news of the whore and move onto more exciting broadcasts. No longer was the mute child who had witnessed more than most men saw in their entire lives an issue of paramount importance. Now that there were drug busts and foreign conflicts to worry over, the death of one woman had faded out like the worn photograph in front of him.

Suddenly angry by the irrational sympathy that awoke in him every time he thought about Serena Jenkins, Darien reached out to take down the board. With jerky movements, he managed to carelessly rip out the clippings, bits of gray paper stuck to the tacks they once were a part of. The bits of carefully cut paper fluttered to the wastebasket near his desk as he turned to exit the bare room.

Sidestepping a tower of cardboard boxes, Darien shut off the disturbing curl of guilt he felt flair through him. Everyone else had forgotten the senseless crime, it was high time he follow suit.

   [1]: mailto:Karisma456@hotmail.com



	3. Desert Rose 3

Many of you may have noticed the absence of First Comes. It has come to my attention that my story unwittingly resembles one of Judith McNaught's. I stress unwittingly because regardless of some people's snide remarks, I have not read this particular novel. I have heard of the critically acclaimed author and hold her in high regards because of my own wonderful experience with her book Whitney, My Love. Might I say that I highly recommend this novel to all romantics; it is a brilliant piece of work. I have never read a novel by the aforementioned author titled Paradise, though one reader did not hesitate to flame me in reference to some/many similarities.  
  
When the many happenings of plagiarism came to light not too long ago, I took pride in my completely original works. I still consider myself innocent considering my thoughts were original and I was unaware of similarities. I realized that many of you may choose not to believe me, but consider my past track record before First Comes. Have any of my plots been from published books? No, because they came from the crevices of my mind. I cannot explain any similarities between Paradise and First Comes, because I simply do not know how they came about. I do apologize for any outrage anyone might have felt, though I take no blame.  
  
I debated for a long time whether or not to take down First Comes, it hurt when I made my decision because it felt unfair to me. My plot was my own in my own mind, it still is. To take it down would be like admitting I had sinned, but I had not! Still, I refused to step on any toes. However, I plan on finishing this story for my own personal closure, but I will not release it for the sake of those who reviewed me, informing me of this ordeal.  
  
Thank you for your understanding and once again, my apologies.  
  
  
  
  
  
Desert Rose  
  
By: Karisma  
  
Section Two  
  
Rated: R (For adult subject content, language, and allusions to sexual matters)  
  
Genre: General Fiction; Romance, Alt  
  
Karisma456@hotmail.com  
  
Standard Disclaimers Apply  
  
AN: Many of you may not like the portrayal of Serena in this story. No other way to say this: Tough noogies. If you don't like it, don't read it. (Ppl vs. Larry Flynt!)But please do not flame me for the way I write these characters. However, if you like the story in any way shape or form please don't hesitate to drop me a line. ( Thank you and enjoy! PS- Serena does get a whole lot better as the novel progresses.  
  
Memories  
  
Silicon Valley, California 2001  
  
Serena Jenkins groaned silently as the judges gavel struck down with a heavy thud. One year. She resisted the temptation to childishly stick her tongue out at the beady-eyed hag.  
  
The fifty year old Judge Cynthia Wallace permanently looked as if she had bit into a lemon, her small face was constantly puckered into a scowl of utter disdain. She had never been considered an attractive woman, but she had keen acumen that held zero tolerance for insolent youth. Serena Jenkins was a prime example of that. All Cynthia had to do was look at the exposed midriff and nose ring of the young woman to calculate a prison time of twelve months. She would have liked very much to sentence her to more, but considering the little criminal hadn't cost her victims too much money, it wouldn't be fair to make her do three years.  
  
And Cynthia was nothing if not fair.  
  
Serena blew out her breath as soon as she was led outside the courtroom, her only silver lining being that she managed to keep the bigger criminal out of the police's hands. Gavin wouldn't do well in prison, and there was no way Serena would sell a friend out. Not one she literally owed her life to.  
  
When her handcuffs were taken off, she rubbed her wrists and immediately lifted her hand to finger the pendant she always wore. Instead, her hand came in contact with her bare skin. Sighing, she remembered all her jewelry had been confiscated. Even the small, silver hoop she wore in her right nostril. The cell was empty except for her and a heavy-set woman snoring loudly with her back turned away from her.  
  
Running an agitated hand through her raggedly cut hair, she plopped down on threadbare cot and made herself as comfortable as possible. After all, she would be there for a while, thanks to that bitch of a judge. Maybe Wallace hated blondes. Maybe she hated women. Serena shook her head when she recalled the glare she had been privy to. The look that was supposed to put her in her place, make her feel as if she was gum that was scraped off shoes in disgust.  
  
But Serena took pleasure in reminding herself that she was probably smarter than Wallace. Even though Wallace had to be rather intelligent to compensate for her naturally spinsterish qualities, Serena Jenkins prided herself in having an IQ most people dreamed of.  
  
When the orphanage down in Georgia had been required to give her the test in high school, she had scored unbelievably high. Her teacher found it so implausible that the school's most apathetic student actually stored gray matter between her ears that he had made her take the test again. When the same results came back, he immediately took pride in her, babbling off a wide queue of colleges that would gladly accept her if only she took schoolwork seriously from that point on.  
  
Her response had been terse and spoke volumes. After her eloquent 'fuck that', she walked out of the classroom, blowing a bubble with her gum and not bothering to shut the door behind her. From there she had walked to the cyber café where she worked part time. The pay was mediocre, but it gave her a chance to be with, and on a slow day, use, the sole machine that had kept her company when solitude was inevitable.  
  
Serena Jenkins loved computers. She loved knowing how they worked, how such power was engineered and available with the click of a few keys. Of course, most of the dim-witted morons that came in to check their e-mail didn't know half of what lay at their fingertips. Neither had Serena. But she had been different; she had been determined to learn. And no hoity- toity school was going to teach her in four years what she had ached to discover for five years. No, it was quite certain that her only option had been to leave Georgia and move to the heart of the technology: the Silicon Valley.  
  
She took off the day after she graduated high school. Freshly eighteen, the feel of independence and discovery had given her a heady feeling the pot she was offered everyday could not match. She had made the move with pleasure, taking the money she had earned from the deplorable job down at Chit Ch@t and taking the Greyhound to California. There, she had met Gavin, who taught her everything he knew, sans a few tricks he opted to keep to himself. That was fine with Serena, what Gavin did school her in made her more knowledgeable than most crackers wished to be.  
  
Cracking had always been more of a game to her than anything else. Some made a living out of breaking into databases and selling information. Serena did it purely for the excitement of achieving. It was her way of flouncing in the faces of those who had mocked her long ago for the reticence. Back then, machines had been the only company for her. Years and many conversations later, she still wasn't one to desert her only "friend".  
  
Even when Gavin scored her some jobs that would have bestowed her dwindling surplus a hefty present, Serena did it more for the hell of it than anything to do with a monetary gain.  
  
The thrill of it is what landed her here in the cell that was home for the next year, if she was lucky. When Gavin had come home late one night, wheezing from his sprint up the two flights of stairs, Serena had known something was up. After he had taken a shot from the inhaler he pretended not to own, he managed to control his breathing enough to tell her the exciting news that had him willing to sacrifice his lungs.  
  
Apparently, some hotshot bigwig would be willing to spend a shitload of money to find out what his competitor's new, secret item was. Serena really hadn't see what the big deal was, but Gavin practically had a hard- on just talking about it. His slim fingers had flailed wildly as he gestured to her the importance of this job. When he was done talking, Serena had realized how she was involved. Gavin had promised his on again, off again girlfriend a real vacation. That meant Serena would be holding up the fort of their casual "business" alone for the next two weeks. The job needed to be done by then. Which meant, in short, Serena would do the work and reap half of the rewards.  
  
It was a shitty deal and she hadn't failed to tell him so. What was the big deal about such a tiny job? They had done a few of them before and none of them had had Gavin this worked up. When he voiced the amount they would be given, her jaw had dropped…and stayed there. Gavin had then proceeded to tell her that in the wake of this new project, they would be bestowed with all sorts of "toys".  
  
The thought of receiving new equipment on top of the gargantuan salary had been enough to give *her* a hard-on, had she been blessed with the right apparatus.  
  
"Hot damn," she had whispered, still shell-shocked.  
  
Gavin had simply grinned and leaned against the couch, his head supported by his hands.  
  
"Do you know what this means?"  
  
"We get the fuck outta this hell-hole."  
  
"Jesus."  
  
"I assume I have your approval?"  
  
"Hot damn!" She had repeated again, jumping up and staring down at his nonchalant pose with more zest and life than Gavin had seen in a long time. "Get off your ass and help me!"  
  
He had laughed and together they had compiled enough information to make it a piece of cake for Serena while he was gone.  
  
Or so they had thought.  
  
When the police had barged through the frail door of the hole in the wall place they inhabited, Serena had just sent the company the valuable information they had requested. The only thought she had while was being read her rights, was the smug realization that Gavin would still get the money. They could trace the source she had given the information to, but they could deny all ties with her and she would not contradict them.  
  
Not for two hundred thousand dollars.  
  
And so she was here, with a loud woman whose nasally sinus rhythm had the distinct musical quality of someone sleeping off enough alcohol to float a navy fleet.  
  
Rolling her eyes, she settled down on her back and stared up at the peeling paint on the ceiling. It wasn't hard to fall asleep she had slept in worse places than this, and when slumber finally overtook her, her only thought was of Gavin's reaction when he came back and found her in the slammer.  
  
Late Night, Work Sucks  
  
Darien pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, pausing from the briefs in front of him long enough only to squeeze his eyes shut. When he reopened them, the world was a bit bleary. Lack of sleep and dim lighting would do that to a man. Picking up the clear-rimmed glasses he had discarded earlier, he adjusted them on his tired face and resumed where he had left off.  
  
A shoplifting charge. A dumb teenager with more balls than brains hefted a pack of smokes from a small convenience store. The camera had caught him, the terrified young man had confessed, a testimony which was later deemed inadmissible. The juvenile sixteen year old normally would not have had anything to do with a prestigious firm like Bendell & Associates, but the delinquent's father was a seasoned doctor whose malpractice suits had given Thomas Bendell a great source of income for the past decade. Returning the favor, Thomas Bendell, esquire had dumped the sorry excuse for a case on Darien, the new guy.  
  
Technically, he had been the "new guy" for over two years. Now, as a junior partner, he had been elevated a bit, but not much. He was still too "inexperienced" to deal with the important cases that sent California to the television to watch with jaws agape at the heinous crimes Bendell's clients committed.  
  
No, he was stuck with getting a pilfering, post-pubescent teenager whose daddy saw more money after one operation than Darien did in six months. The case was open and shut. Travis Cross would look at the judge with wide eyes and he'd get a slap on the wrist and maybe some community service.  
  
Sighing, Darien let out a terse curse when he saw that the folder was missing the last few pages. Loosening his tie even further, he got up to the nearest filing cabinet in the miniscule room that passed for his office. Turning the air blue at the sorry excuse for an intern whose job was to file neatly and accordingly, Darien slammed the metal drawer shut when his hands turned up empty for the documents.  
  
Running a hand through his dark hair, he walked through the open door and into the central room where clients came in to wait. All the partners' offices, even the large conference room, were connected to it, circling the tastefully furnished area to give a personal environment. Clients liked seeing the lawyers smile courteously at them while they moved around, shuffling papers and making arrangements to save their clients' asses from inevitable doom. They liked thinking that lawyers weren't the blood-sucking leeches that cocktail jokes made them out to be.  
  
Law school had been grueling as hell and half as rewarding. Seven years of school had shoved him out into the real world with book smarts and a naiveté that he hated. Of course, three years of hands on experience at a private firm had taken care of that faster than a whore's timer went off. He was good at what he did, damn good. And Bendell knew it, he just didn't want to admit it. And the only way to prove to the senior partners how competent he was, was to bid his time and wait until his outstanding track record was noticed.  
  
On that note, he opened Bendell's cabinet with a metallic whoosh. Flipping through the files that were immaculately filed, he grumbled something about Thomas Bendell hiring one secretary to keep him organized and another to keep him laid. Finally making it to the J section of the neatly labeled folders, Darien muttered the names he passed in order to get to his destination.  
  
"Jacobs, Janison, Jeffers, Jenkins, Jilman…" His deft fingers backtracked quickly and found the folder labeled: Serena Jenkins.  
  
He simply stared at the yellow file for a while before pulling it out, his original intent forgotten. He did not bother to take the package back to his own desk, opting instead to sit at his boss' mahogany desk and pore over the already processed information. Most of the facts he already knew about, there were even the same newspaper articles attached as he had kept in his bedroom. He swallowed tightly when he found a picture of her at nine years of age. Her luminous blue eyes took up most of her face and although the girl was obviously young, her solemn expression and drawn face made her look…  
  
Darien rubbed his eyes and mentally scolded himself. Here he was, a grown man, making sentimental poetry over a twelve-year old picture. He angrily flipped the page, desperately needing to get the black and white photograph out of his sight. It was only then that he noticed the unusual thickness of the file. Rather than the rudimentary facts, there was an in depth analysis. It included her life prior to her mother's death, the doctors' physical and mental assessment of her well-being, even her IQ was listed. Which led to him to the next obvious question, why the hell would Bendell be carrying around a twelve year old profile of a case his firm had never been in charge of?  
  
The answer to that was as elusive as cotton candy and not nearly so sweet.* change this!!!!!!  
  
He reread the article he had once memorized from constant viewing. It was the final article that the newspapers had published on Kathleen Jenkins' unfortunate demise. It simply stated that the killer simply had left a cold trail and officials could find no leads that would guide them to the perpetrator. That was that. It was supposed to be the end of it all. All the madness. All the mayhem. All the conflicting and utterly ridiculous emotions that had him wired up as a teenager, lashing out at anyone who made a crack or bad joke about the unusual circumstances surrounding the child and her dead mother. It was supposed to have ended there.  
  
Then he turned the article and realized it had never truly ended.  
  
Face-to-Face  
  
Prison. Christ, how on earth had she ended up there? Darien thumped the steering wheel in frustration at the relenting traffic. Actually, this was the perfect excuse to back out and postpone the entire trip. But he knew if he turned away now, he'd forget the whole goddamn idea. Maybe he should forget it. This was utter madness, going after a girl he had never met.  
  
But he felt like he'd known her forever.  
  
Shit, it was that kind of crazy, sentimental thinking that was going to get him screwed in the first place. Point blank, he did not know Serena Jenkins. He had only seen a few pictures of her as a kid. For all he knew, she could be a drugged out hippie who was in jail because she felt clothes restricted her id and decided to start a movement against garments in Grand Central. Or maybe she was a murderess cum prostitute.  
  
Rolling his eyes at the ludicrous notions he was cooking up, Darien pressed down on the gas pedal and inched forward. When he was out of the imminent danger of getting rear-ending, he allowed his thoughts to focus back on the file he had discovered in Bendell's office. He knew his half- cocked thoughts about hippies and whores was false; he had read what she was serving time for: hacking. He knew that was no small feat, it took intelligence. Which she had plenty of, according to the off the chart IQ he had read.  
  
Damn it all, why had Bendell had that folder? Between the chaos that was tormenting his mind and this asinine plan to see a woman who didn't even know him, Darien hadn't really thought out that particular conundrum.  
  
He lost all semblance of thought as he turned off a ramp and met with the sight of a gray building that was clearly the women's prison he had been looking for.  
  
The infamous catcalls and grabbing hands were something that he had expected. However, he was met with only a sleepy guard informing him that he had to sign in a sheet. He complied and soon he was led into a room filled with a few other people all talking to either crying or cussing women on the other side of a thick glass. When he informed the guard whom he wished to speak with, the plump woman snorted and yawned repeatedly while reciting a speech that told him his conversation could be recorded.  
  
He sat down in the less than comfortable chair and waited with bated breath at the first sight of his teenage obsession.  
  
Not-So-Glorious Technicolor  
  
Serena looked up in surprise when the ward informed her of her visitor. Gavin had just spoken with her and there was no one else who gave a damn about her, let alone know she was in here. Running a hand through her blonde hair, she followed the short woman as she waddled over to the visiting room and shoved her into a chair.  
  
When she looked up into the eyes of her guest, she nearly choked. Turning around, she called to the waiting guard. "There's some mistake, I don't know this yuppie."  
  
Darien was shocked as well, this woman with an attitude was such a far cry from the quiet child with expressive eyes that his mind reeled. He hadn't been so naïve as to expect an adult version of the innocence he had seen years before, she was a criminal after all, but this! After all those years of harboring an ideal in his mind, he was amazed to see the woman before him, real and in not-so-glorious Technicolor.  
  
"Well, yuppie, you gotta name or do I just get to stare at your pretty mug all day?" She cupped her face in her hand as her elbow leaned against the scratched table surface. As she stared at him expectantly, Darien could see the fine bone structure that had been prevalent in her mother's white- collar family. Her large eyes were the same electrifying blue, though now they were tinged with a caustic layer that the young pictures had failed to capture. Her nose and cheekbones were nice slopes and clean planes that gave away her pedigree if one looked too closely. Her tousled and badly layered hair was the only feature that detracted from her attractiveness. If it were not for it's unflattering style, Serena Jenkins would have been considered one beautiful woman.  
  
Masking his disturbingly high opinion of her efficiently, Darien picked up the black phone on his side of the glass. He looked at her once more before deigning to speak. Why hadn't he planned on what to say? How could he not think that far ahead? "Well, Miss Jenkins, you obviously don't know me—"  
  
She snorted. "Obviously."  
  
He ignored her and continued as if she had not interrupted. "I'm a lawyer and rather interested in your case."  
  
She narrowed her eyes a fraction. "What case?"  
  
"The way I understand it, you're in here for hacking into some database?"  
  
"Cracking."  
  
"Pardon me?"  
  
"I didn't hack anywhere, I cracked into the database." She looked disgusted for a moment. "There's a difference."  
  
He gave her a long look that summarized how much the intricate difference mattered to him. She rolled her eyes in response.  
  
"In any case, I feel that with proper legal counsel you could be out of her and on probation and a stern warning. This is your first offense, am I correct?"  
  
"Yes," she said sweetly, her grin saccharine. "You are correct."  
  
"All right, then." He once again ignored her attitude. "I'll bail you out and we'll get the judge to hear your apology to the court and society."  
  
"Mm-hmm."  
  
He slammed his fist on the table in a movement that was like quicksilver. He derived pleasure from the involuntary jump she made. "Just what the hell is your problem?" He hissed. "I'm doing you a favor here; I'm taking this case pro bono. That means you don't pay a damn nickel!"  
  
"Oh, right, in money I don't pay," she sneered, her blue eyes flashing hotly which barely concealed disdain.  
  
"Care to explain further, or do I just get to stare at your pretty mug all day?"  
  
"Don't be cute, you sick bastard."  
  
Darien took immediate umbrage and his eyes turned to a shade of steely gray. "Are you this nice to everyone who tries to help you?"  
  
"No, only the ones who think I'm a whore."  
  
"In the entire length of our conversation, did I ever call you a whore once?" He leaned forward, his voice low, underlining the harsh and angry contours of his face.  
  
"I'm not going to sleep with you in exchange for you getting me out of here."  
  
Well she was certainly blunt, wasn't she?  
  
"First of all, did I ever ask you to? Secondly, don't flatter yourself."  
  
"Then why?"  
  
"Look, I know about your mother," her eyes grew venomous here, "And I thought that maybe after all the crap you've been dealt with, you could use a break."  
  
His nonchalant demeanor made her relax and lean back in her seat. Just as long as he didn't pity her, she could take it.  
  
There was a pause.  
  
He said quietly, meeting her stare with an eloquent look, "I am sorry about your mother."  
  
She nodded curtly.  
  
He knew that was a signal to let well enough alone. But he pressed on. "I, as much as anyone, know how busy detectives are, and how new homicides really stretch them thin; they don't get paid nearly enough. But sometimes, especially in your case, I wish that something could be done about opening new cases up for investigation."  
  
Her head snapped up. Her face was flushed, her eyes wild. "What did you say?" She whispered.  
  
He looked at her strangely. "What?"  
  
She shook her head impatiently. "About opening old cases."  
  
He shrugged. "I said how I'd like detectives to be able to solve old murders as well as new."  
  
She pretended to relax against her chair, but Darien could see the tension outlining her slim form. Her stringent posture gave away her attentiveness to his answers.  
  
"Well, I suppose sometimes it's just too late."  
  
Darien shook his head. "No, but we don't have a statute of limitation on murders for a reason, it's to—"  
  
She jumped back to the position she was previously in. One wide spread hand pressed firmly against the cold table. She was hunched over, letting the other clenched hand compress the phone to her ear as if it were a lifeline. "There's no statute of limitation on murders?" Her voice was small and thin, contrasting her aggressive stance.  
  
He looked puzzled. "No, I—"  
  
"Shit!" She hissed, fury in her tight voice. The curse was barely audible and Darien thought he had imagined it. But her next words dispelled that theory. "That cocksucking son of a fucking bitch!"  
  
Sweet Nothings  
  
"Excuse me?" Darien demanded, his dark brow furrowed deeply. What he wouldn't give to know what was racing through her mind at that exact moment. Unfortunately, the hefty guard had decided it was time for their little rendezvous to end. She clamped an iron fist around Serena's surprisingly strong upper arm and yanked her up out of the chair.  
  
Serena put up a fight long enough to hiss her final words at him. They stayed with him long after she was dragged out. They kept him company on the ride back to his empty apartment. They remained with him as he got ready for work the next morning.  
  
He could hear them in his head, low and steely.  
  
*Get me out of here* 


	4. Desert Rose Section 3

Hello, readers. Before you read this next chapter of Desert Rose, I was wondering if you might take a few seconds out of your day to vote for Zander in the blue box of this following link: http://abc.soapsindepth.com/talkback/polls/instantpoll.asp If you're bored, perhaps you want to continue to this link http://abc.soapsindepth.com/talkback/readerspoll/ , scroll down to the bottom of the page, and paste Gia Campbell & Jason Morgan in the last box under favorite couple. For those of you that vote, I want to thank you. This means a lot to me and for both votes, it takes about 20 seconds. You all have my gratitude. If you watch GH and don't particularly agree with my votes, then obviously you won't vote. But if you agree, or you don't care one way or another, PLEASE vote! We're somewhat losing (as will come apparent once you vote) Thank you and have a lovely day! Karisma  
  
  
  
Desert Rose  
  
By Karisma  
  
Section Three  
  
Rated: R (For adult subject content, language, and allusions to sexual matters)  
  
Genre: General Fiction; Romance, Alt  
  
Karisma456@hotmail.com  
  
Standard Disclaimers Apply July 2002  
  
Cry to Heaven  
  
"You're really not understanding how lucky you are," Darien shot an annoyed look to the striding female next to him, wishing she would stop smacking her gum with that look of supreme boredom on her face. "Yeah, yeah." She blew a bubble and sucked it in her mouth quickly. "For God's sake, will you spit that out?" His voice rose in the courtroom corridor and echoed lightly. He lowered his voice when he saw heads turn their way curiously. He closed his fist around her upper arm and pulled her aside into a corner of the hallway. "What is your problem?" She hissed, trying to pull her arm out of the manacle that his hand had become. "You!" He shot back, his voice rising yet again. He clenched and unclenched his jaw before speaking again, this time in a strained whisper. "You have a chance to walk out of here in a few minutes. Judge Barnum agreed to hear my case for you, but I pulled a favor to get that chance. The least you could do is straighten up, stop smacking that goddamn gum, and try to act like anything but the degenerate that you seem to have turned into." She ripped herself away from his grasp. He could tell she was hurt despite how cavalier she acted. "Fine," she said tersely, walking ahead of him to the proper room. Darien sighed and followed, praying to whomever was listening that this go well.  
  
The Proposition  
  
"She's just a kid, Your Honor." "Counselor, approach the bench." Darien shot Serena a look before striding over to the older man. He leaned against the wood on his side, his eyes on Serena the entire time. She stood ramrod straight, her eyes huge and amazingly innocent. She was wearing a skirt and blouse and he would bet money that they were the only dress clothes she had ever worn. Judge Barnum also stared at the young woman, finding it hard to believe that this slip of a girl was arrested for computer cracking. She didn't look like a criminal mastermind; she looked like she belonged in a family sitcom. Darien pleaded his case further in a hushed whisper for the judge's ears only. "She'll do community service. I mean, really, she's had a hard life-" Barnum raised one beetled eyebrow. "And that's an excuse? Counselor, if that reason flied, every common criminal would come crying in here about how they weren't hugged enough by their mommies." "But *her* mommy was murdered while she watched." Barnum was taken aback. That was certain. His hazel eyes widened as he looked over at the slim woman again. "Jenkins did you say?" "Yes, Your Honor." The older man sighed heavily and slammed his gavel. "Your debt to society will come in the form of a $500 dollar fine and your solemn promise that I won't see you in here again." She nodded earnestly, but not to eagerly. She looked honest. Even Darien had to admire the humble way she slightly lowered her head and said, "Yes, Your Honor." Once outside and free for the first time in months, she didn't laugh or dance around or even offer a thank you. She simply turned to him, her eyes turning into slits as she had to face the sun to see him, and said, "When do you want to leave?"  
  
The Answer  
  
"Excuse me?" He said. It seemed to be the only reply he had whenever she said something that completely threw him off. "We're going to Maine." She got into the passenger seat of his car, staring ahead through the windshield as he remained standing a few feet away from where his car was parked. When he finally slipped behind the wheel, he waited a bit before turning to her and repeating very slowly, "Excuse me?" "What, am I speaking German here? We have to get to Southfield, Maine as soon as possible." She waved her hand near the ignition and Darien got the impression she wanted him to start the car and get out of the parking lot. By the time he was on the road, his hands clenching the steering wheel in anticipation for words he knew he did not want to hear, he had finally figured out the right questions. "Why do you have to go to Southfield?" "Because that's where Reeds is." "Who the hell is Reeds?" "You'll find out." "Oh, right, of course," he replied pleasantly. "Why do I have to go with you?" She shrugged. "You don't *have* to. I thought I'd repay you for getting me out of there. I don't want any debts hanging in the air." "Exactly how would dragging me to Maine be of any help to me?" She turned in her seat to look at him intently. One side of her mouth rising in a knowing smile, she answered, "I thought maybe you were sick of doing small cases for some company taking all the credit for your work." He met her gaze briefly and coolly. "And how do you figure that?" "You helped me out because you were bored. You wouldn't be bored if you were handling cases that took up your talent, time, and energy." She stared out the window, watching as trees and scenery flew by. He was surprised he was surprised. He had known she was smart right from the bat. Her sharp mind was bound to uncover some things about him. "Going to Maine would help out my career by." He trailed off, letting her finish the sentence. "Reeds told me that he couldn't look for my mother's killer because the time allotted for such a search had run out." Darien's head swung over to look at her disbelievingly. "Are you sure you heard right?" She glared at him with disgust. "I was young, but I wasn't stupid and I wasn't deaf. Anyway, he obviously lied to me. But he lied for a reason and I'm going to find out what it was. And when I do, you might want a piece of the action. It could mean hitting the big time for you; you'd get the major cases after word gets out of your part in this. You wouldn't be working for some hardass boss giving you pickpockets and computer crackers." She grinned and he was alarmed at how it turned her usually pessimistic face into one of youth. She was pretty. "If you stick with criminal law, you could be the next Johnny Cochran." "Just what I always wanted," he muttered, executing a sharp left turn.  
  
"What?" "Nothing." "So what do you say?" He looked at her as he pulled up his parking brake. Her eyes were hopeful and guarded at the same time. They were a wonderful shade of blue, he realized. Snapping out of it, he digested what information he had just been thrown. She was going to Maine with or without him. And she was going to kick some ass, if the way she felt about Reeds was any indication. Did he want the fame that would come with the unearthing of such a scandal? Yeah. But did he also want to keep the impetuous and angry young woman in front of him out of trouble? Hell, yeah. "Give me fifteen minutes to pack."  
  
Makeover  
  
"Why are you staring at me?" Darien blinked and let his gaze fall away from her face. "We have to get you a haircut." She rolled her eyes and smiled sweetly. "Well, aren't you the charmer?" She seemed to be relatively normal again. He had noticed her change of behavior on the plane. She had been withdrawn, staring out of the window as if the clouds could give her the answers she was desperately seeking. But now, as they sat in an airport shuttle, she was back to her caustic, defensive self. Strangely, he found himself wishing she would show him more of the pensive and all around hidden side of her. He told himself he didn't care either way, just as long as she stayed alive and he had a case. "And some clothes." He pointedly lowered his gaze to her bare midriff. "What?" She asked belligerently, crossing her arms over her chest in an automatically protective gesture. "And the nose ring." He continued, ignoring her angry looks at his obvious distaste of her fashion style. "I happen to-" "Not to mention a new attitude." Her lips pursued, she gave him the finger along with a narrowed glare. He laughed aloud at the action despite himself. Leaning forward, he said something to the driver that didn't quite meet Serena's ears, thought it piqued her curiosity. The van stopped near the curb and Darien got out, taking his duffel bag with him. Although slightly confused, Serena followed suit, watching as the green vehicle took off again. She turned to him. "This is not the orphanage." "You're right." He began walking. She followed, her temper stirring. They walked in silence until he stopped in front of a small shop. Suzie's Beauty Boutique she read. Slowly, her head shook as she turned to face him. "No." He nodded grimly, practically pushing her through the door that jingled as they entered. "Yes."  
  
Different  
  
"Much better." She swung her head back and forth, wrinkling her nose at her reflection. "I guess." Her hair had been washed and cut so that the chopped hairstyle was now tactfully layered. It was still short, barely brushing her shoulders, but it looked maintained and even flattering. Serena watched as he paid the bottle blonde, probably Suzie. The older woman cracked her pink wad of gum and winked as she took the money. She lifted an uncertain hand to touch the back of her head tentatively. Her hair was soft. The silence was unnerving. She broke it. "I'm not even sure Reeds still works at APD." The comment was unnecessary, but he nodded, grateful for the words, as empty as they were, to fill the quiet gap. "We'll see where this takes us. Augusta City Orphanage is only a block away." He meant to look at her briefly as he spoke, but his gaze stayed on her as they walked. "What?" Doubt was clearly in her voice as she touched her head again. "You look.different." Not sure how to take that, she lowered her gaze. "Oh." He wanted to reassure her that the haircut looked nice. That different wasn't bad. But he simply took another step toward her past.  
  
Peace  
  
She entered through the doors after him, swiveling her head slowly, taking in every detail and matching it with her memories of the place. It was virtually unchanged, untouched. She could smell burnt food, hear the screams of children-sometimes laughter, mostly cries. She almost expected to turn around and be nine years old again. Mute and shamed, lowering her head noiselessly as kids taunted her to speak. But she remained the same, Darien looking back at her with mild concern. She lifted the corners of her mouth in a smile. It fell as soon as he turned forward again. Her survey of the makeshift home she was shuttled from years ago was cut off by the sight of a familiar figure straight ahead. Serena walked directly towards the woman, taking in her changed appearance. The red- auburn hair that had always been pulled back was in the same style now, but gray peppered the look. Molly had never been an especially attractive woman, but she had cared for Serena when no one else had bothered. That fact alone caused concern to run through Serena as she noticed the deep crevices around the woman's eyes and mouth. Her eyes were different now, Serena realized. They no longer held the same proud dignity they had always maintained. No, the Molly before her now looked beaten by life. A perpetual pain and sadness was etched into her and no amount of anti-wrinkle cream or age-defying projects would ever be able to erase it. It didn't take Molly less than a second to recognize Serena. At fifty- two, Molly had though of Serena Jenkins at least once everyday of her life. She had thought about that night more than once a day-the guilt would never allow her to forget. And in a way, Molly did not want to forget, she did not deserve to be blessed with the peace forgetting would allow. Molly lifted a shaking hand to touch Serena's face. Her fingertips were rough, any softness they had been born with was stripped away by life. The moment Molly made physical contact with the younger woman, it was as if a dam burst. Shame and guilt had been bottled up inside of her for over a decade. Now, as she looked into the eyes of whom it had all been for, Molly felt purged. She may never be forgiven for what happened to Sabrina, but seeing Serena's blue eyes, sharp and keen as ever, the older woman knew she had done the right thing twelve years ago. Tears streamed down her weathered face and Serena was at a loss for what to do. Molly took her hand and led her to an empty room, oblivious to the man following both of them. Once the three of them were inside, Molly shut the door and immediately embraced Serena. She returned the hug and it was a full minute before Molly let go. Molly wiped her cheeks before speaking. "Not a day went by that I didn't imagine what you looked like all grown-up." She smiled, but it was short-lived at her next thought. "You and Sabrina." "Sabrina?" Molly's head jerked up at the inquisitive tone. She then realized that Serena did not know. Of course she didn't. How could she? Molly refused to feel guilty for what she was about to do. She had kept this horrible secret within her for twelve years, it was time to let it out and peace in. And Serena needed to know, her life could depend on what Molly was able to tell her. "That night, years ago, when I sent you to Georgia. Do you remember?" Serena could only nod. "I sent you away because I knew you were in danger." Molly looked away, unable to meet Serena's blue gaze. "Kath told me-" "My mother? You knew my mother?" Serena's hand found its way to Molly's arm and clutched it. Molly only nodded once, sadness once again flooding her eyes. "They were going to hurt you, so I sent you someplace I thought you'd be safe. But I didn't think-I just didn't think." Soft sobs were heard from her as she turned away from the two other people in the room. Her slight back shook with grief as she continued, "Sabrina Woodward was the girl I put in your bed. I thought that they'd see her and realize that you weren't there. But-" Molly drew in a trembling breath. "They killed her anyway. They thought she was you."  
  
Last Wish  
  
Serena remained silent, her body not moving one muscle. She didn't blink, didn't breath, didn't think. She felt nauseated. Darien must have seen it on her face because he took her arm and led her to a chair. She sat down numbly, her gaze slowly crawling up to meet Molly's. At that moment, they both shared a guilt that they did not deserve. The loss of a young girl was heavy on their shoulders. Molly cried harder. Serena could only stare. It was a few moments until Molly could control the sobs wracking her body. When she did, she looked up to see both of them. Serena sitting woodenly in a chair and Darien kneeling next to her, trying to get her to talk. "I have a Kath's will. She wanted you to see it." Molly left them. Serena blinked at the words. She turned to look down at Darien's surprised eyes. They were both thinking the same thing, but Serena voiced it anyway. "What kind of twenty-five year old has a will?" Darien stood up. "One that knows she may die soon." They stared at each other then. A zillion random thoughts ran through her mind, but she couldn't grasp onto one long enough to translate it into something she could begin to understand. It was only after an unsettling pause that Serena managed to shake the incoherent shards of thoughts and realized that something was off. "Where is she?" Darien asked, running a hand through his hair. He turned around where he stood, taking in the numerous filing cabinets around the room. "And where are we?" Serena stood up suddenly and opened the door. Darien followed. They were in a deserted hallway. Serena walked across the corridor without hesitation. She entered a room directly across from where they had been seconds ago. It had been Molly's office all those years ago and Serena would bet money she didn't have that it was still hers. When she entered the room, she saw Molly rummaging through a drawer a few feet away. The window directly behind the older woman illuminated her figure, but Serena had to squint past the sunlight coming in through the glass. She felt Darien come up behind her. Swallowing, Serena took a few steps closer to the woman. "Molly, I-" She was still talking when Molly's head exploded. 


End file.
